DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
No time to survey the carnage wrought on the immobile device before a voice emerged from the wall. He shrugged his shoulders at the veiled insults, clenching his jaw, eyes narrowing dangerously – so utterly done with anything and everything the world kept flinging at him. Perhaps it made him more treacherous, more vehement, more violent, or merely exhausted, fatigued, worn around the edges, waiting for the next cataclysm to fall down around him. Behind his teeth, the words were bit out, heavy on the air. “You are more than welcome to try your hand.” Disdain undulated through him on the next motion, but he kept it at bay, smothered it down with the rest of the emotions battering and barreling around him. Gaze swept out along the training grounds, pondering notions of evasion or escape. None seemed to jump out at him. “Yes.” His head swung back, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. “What do you need?”
